Close Encounters

by Kitt, Sandra

  The two men turned around. One quickly pushed against the door and forced his way across the threshold. She couldn’t react quickly enough to stop him. In Spanish, the other was dismissed, and he instantly disappeared down the front steps.

  Barbara’s insides tightened with the immediate knowledge that she was alone and in serious trouble. Her heart pounded, and adrenaline made her senses keen, wired. She reached automatically for her gun, but she hadn’t clipped it on. She was at home, after all.

  The man grabbed her around the throat, his thumb pressing to restrict her breathing, cutting off all chance of escape. She spread her arms in surrender.

  “Mario—” Barbara choked out. For a mere second she thought of reasoning with him, but she knew that would be futile.

  “Mija,” he drawled in a hard voice.

  Mario reached behind him with the other hand and locked the door. He jerked Barbara away from the wall, controlling her with the pressure of his thumb on her throat. He quickly maneuvered her in front of him and twisted her right hand—her gun hand—using a police technique against her.

  He led her back into the living room. Once there, he released her with a strong push. Barbara stumbled forward, caught her balance, and whirled to face him. There was no gun in his hand, but she knew he had one.

  Barbara watched as a malevolent smile twisted his handsome mouth. Inexplicably, she felt real regret that there was no chance of redemption for Mario.

  Calmly, as if he was reaching for loose change, Mario withdrew a Glock automatic from a coat pocket. Barbara didn’t let a muscle on her face move, although her heart was racing. He got off on other people’s fear. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to use hers against her.

  “The kid’s at school. Mom’s at her cashier job at the market downtown. It’s you and me, babe.” He laughed. “While the folks are away, the mice will play, eh, mija?”

  She boldly faced him. “Even you aren’t this dumb, Mario. I’m being watched.”

  “Bullshit.” He pointed his gun at her right leg. “Let me have it. Use your left hand. You don’t want to make me nervous.”

  Keeping her eyes on him, Barbara slowly bent down. Her hair fell forward, almost obscuring her view of him, and she shook it back. Just under the hem of her jeans she wiggled her fingers and pulled out a small-caliber handgun. She calculated her chances of getting a clean shot at him, but he was prepared for her. The safety was off his gun. Holding her pistol by the handle between thumb and index finger, she passed it to Mario.

  “What are you going to do?”

  His eyes were hard and cold. “I’m here to make you feel good. Seems you think I’m a lousy fuck. That’s what you said, right? You hurt my feelings. No Latino wants to hear he can’t satisfy his woman. I got to do something about that.” He shrugged out of his coat and put it on a chair.

  Already Barbara was preparing herself. She thought about all the things she might do to prevent what was going to happen, but not one of them would work. He had the gun. He was closest to the door.

  “This is not going to change my mind,” she said scathingly.

  “I don’t give a shit about changing your mind,” Mario snarled. “I deserve a second chance to fuck you, that’s all. Quiero chucha… I want to make sure I got it right.”

  He beckoned with his fingers. “Come on, give ’em up. The handcuffs.”

  Barbara shook her head. “I don’t have them on me.”

  “Turn around,” he ordered.

  She did so and felt his approach. Mario patted down her sides and waist. He deliberately put his hands between her legs and squeezed her crotch.

  “Okay. Let’s go find them.”

  Barbara led him into her bedroom. There was another gun in her top bureau drawer. She was trying to figure out how she could go for it, but again Mario was taking no chances with her. He made her put her arms behind her back, and he grabbed her wrists. It was awkward, and Barbara knew that too much time would be lost in getting her balance, rushing forward, opening the drawer for the gun, turning and aiming. In less than half that time Mario could get off several rounds.

  “Where?” he asked again.

  “On my belt, inside the closet door.”

  Mario pushed her down on the side of the bed. He deftly opened the closet door, gave a brief glance around, and grabbed the handcuffs. He looked around the room. There was no place for him to secure the cuffs.

  “Get up.”

  “Where… where are you taking me?”

  “To the kid’s room. She’s got the bed with the posts.”

  “How… how do you know that?”

  He grinned. “Come on. Get up.”

  “No, hijo de la gran puta!” she spat. “You want to rape me, you do it right here.”

  Mario’s face flushed with rage. His eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth as he took two strides toward her. He raised his arm and swiftly backhanded her across her left cheek. The blow nearly knocked her over. Her hands clenched into fists and she gritted her teeth. She was not going to scream. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. She thought only, Thank God my daughter and mother aren’t here. And she thought of what she would do to Mario if she had the chance.

  Barbara knew she wasn’t going to be given one.

  “Puta! Crica! Don’t fuckin’ tell me what I can’t do!” Mario grabbed her roughly by the shoulder of her chambray shirt and hauled her up from the bed.

  He clapped the cuffs over her right wrist, then dragged her from the room and down the hall to her daughter’s room. It was small and cramped, with too much furniture and too many toys. A cute little girl’s room in pink and white with a four-poster bed.

  Leaning negligently in the doorway, Mario lowered his gun to his side, his finger on the trigger. He released Barbara, and she stood by the bed, watching him.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  Barbara didn’t immediately obey. She might refuse to cooperate, making it difficult for him. But she was more afraid of him using his fists on her than of him shooting her. More afraid of torture and mindless battery than death.

  And yet deep inside her there was also the urge to fight back, the desire to survive no matter what the consequences.

  She began to undress. She stared straight ahead, at the pattern of dolls on the wallpaper. She was glad it wasn’t her child that Mario had gone after. She tossed her blouse aside and unsnapped her jeans. She pulled her feet out of her sneakers, then quickly wiggled out of her jeans and panties. Her bra was last. She stood straight and faced him unflinchingly.

  Mario made appreciative guttural sounds as he watched. “Tough bitch, ain’t you? Yeah… you the man!” he chuckled.

  Then he unfastened the belt at his waist, popped open the top of his pants. Barbara could see that he was aroused. She finally brought her attention to his face and made it into a demon so that he would be easier to hate and it would be easier to forgive herself for the weakness of surrendering.

  Obscenely, Mario rubbed his genitals through his jeans. He ordered Barbara onto the bed, impatiently pulled the pillow away and tossed it on the floor so that she could lie flat. In quick order he had the other cuff around one of the posts, leaving her at his mercy.

  “I never had no bitch complain before,” he said, putting the gun on the floor next to the bed and climbing onto her.

  Mario roughly pushed her knees apart, holding her legs open with the strength of his own. She stared at the ceiling as he pulled out his erect penis. Instinctively she braced herself. But Mario did not force himself into her. She jumped when, unexpectedly, she felt the intrusive rubbing of his fingers between her legs. He wasn’t rough, but maintained a slow, steady, and persistent rhythm at the most vulnerable part of her body. It was then that she began to twist and resist. She cursed his soul for robbing her of the dignity of not responding at all.

  “Nooo …” she moaned, almost in agony.

  Mario clamped his hand over her mouth and chuckled softly. “Sssshhh, mija.
Not yet. You suppose to scream when I make you come.”

  She bucked her hips under him, trying to escape his hand, but couldn’t. Mario kept up the steady pace. He decided when she was ready. Only then did he ruthlessly plunge into her body, the way eased by his stimulation. Now he was concerned only with his own gratification. In less than a minute he reached his climax, softly cursing under his breath in Spanish. He grunted and groaned and churned his hips against her until his ecstasy faded. Barbara waited for him to get up, get dressed, and either release her or not. Instead he began again, taking longer this time to build his tension. Bringing himself to the edge of release, retreating, and building again before exploding with deep and intense thrusts.

  The third time he made her take him in her mouth.

  Then he took a break to make a phone call, use the bathroom, eat a leftover donut in the kitchen, leaving her on her daughter’s bed with his semen staining her thighs and the pink and white coverlet.

  He returned. He took her again, until Barbara was sore and worn out from his battering. Then he flipped her over onto her stomach and gave her the final indignity. Latino men never did it this way. Animals did this. Dogs. He mounted her from behind in totally virgin territory.

  Barbara bit her lip until it bled rather than cry out. But inside she wept. Finally Mario was done. She heard him cleaning himself in the bathroom. Severe cramps made her twist on the bed.

  He returned to the room, dressed and ready to leave. He put the key to the handcuffs into the lock but didn’t open them. He was going to make her get out of them on her own. Mario leaned over her.

  “You better take care of yourself. Don’t want your kid to find you like this. Better, eh, mijar? Que chula, mami,” he cackled.

  Then he abruptly sobered. He picked up his semiautomatic, primed it, and pointed it at her head.

  “No puta is going to get away with insulting me like that. Ever!” He berated her violently in Spanish, calling her every foul name he could come up with.

  At last he stood up, took the weapon off the ready, and put it away.

  “I’d stay longer but … I’m a busy man. I gotta meet someone. Shit, every time I get in a jam it’s ’cause of some bitch, man. Jacking me up. You lucky I didn’t take you out. One down, one to go,” Mario said cryptically.

  Swiftly he bent to squeeze Barbara’s bare breast in farewell, then walked out the room and out of the house.

  Even then Barbara didn’t cry.

  Chapter Fourteen

  FROM A DISTANCE CAROL SAW the young girl watching her and the class she was conducting. The students were scattered on the grass and the benches of Central Park’s Great Lawn, their pads and inks and pencils on their laps. Carol didn’t recognize the girl and only knew for sure that she had come from the west side of the park, from the direction of the American Museum of Natural History.

  She turned to give her attention back to the young students in her Saturday high school program.

  “Okay, we’ve already studied some of the trees, and we’ve done the skyline of buildings on Fifth Avenue. Now let’s see if we can put those elements together in a real landscape drawing. For those of you who want more challenge, you might try the view toward the Met. You have several paths, a tunnel passageway, a viaduct, Cleopatra’s Needle, and lots of people. Go for it.”

  “Hi, Ms. Taggart.”

  She turned around. Now that the girl was much closer, Carol was stunned to recognize Erica, Lee Grafton’s daughter.

  She didn’t try to hide her surprise. “Well, hello. I… didn’t expect to see you here.” She smiled.

  Erica hugged her sketch pad to her chest and glanced covertly at the students as they concentrated on their work. They were her age or a little older. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. I didn’t know if it was still okay. You told my dad I could come.”

  “Yes, I did,” Carol confirmed as she moved several feet away from the class so they wouldn’t overhear. “But then I didn’t hear from you. Not that I don’t want you to be here, but—”

  “I guess after what happened with my father you thought I wouldn’t be interested,” Erica surmised.

  “I understand that he’s had problems lately,” Carol said cautiously. “But I hope you won’t let that stop you and me from getting to know each other. I’m glad you decided to come after all. You came by yourself?”

  Erica nodded. “I took the subway. Sorry I’m a little late. And I wasn’t sure if you’d … you know … let me stay.”

  “Of course you can stay. I’m glad to have you,” Carol said. “Have you ever done any outdoor sketching before?”

  “No, not really. I think it’s strange to have people watching what you do. There was this man standing over there for a real long time, just staring.” She gestured behind her.

  Carol looked, but saw no man she could single out as paying particular attention to her and her group. “Well, sketching isn’t all that hard. I’ll give you some pointers, and don’t be afraid to ask questions. Let’s find a place for you and get you started. We’ll break for a bag lunch in another hour and then head over to the Met. Did you bring something to eat with you?”

  “No. I forgot.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll share mine. You can buy a soda or juice from the vending cart over there.” She pointed about fifty feet away to a concession stand where the proprietor was doing a brisk Saturday business.

  Carol was curious about Erica’s presence and excited to be in the company of Lee’s daughter. It made her feel closer to Lee. Never would she have imagined that Erica would actually show up for the class, but now that she had, it set Carol to wondering about him.

  Not that she needed a reason. She’d been thinking about him constantly. And she missed him even more.

  Carol introduced Erica to the other students and waited until she was settled and ready to work, but otherwise she treated her like any other member of the class, encouraging, criticizing, praising, and correcting when needed.

  Carol could see that Erica did indeed display real talent, although the girl said that what she most wanted to be was an architect. So Carol gave her a special project to work on. She suggested that instead of sketching what she saw around her, Erica should design her own building… any kind she wanted.

  Even when the class broke for lunch and some of the students went off to walk around the Great Lawn, Erica continued to work on her drawing. Carol sat off to the side with her own sketch pad to keep her company, using Erica as a subject for some quick studies. Carol felt a special companionship with Lee’s daughter.

  From the first time she’d met Erica, Carol had felt she understood quite a lot about her. She felt an empathy for Erica, for her youth and vulnerability, her powerlessness. Carol also knew that Erica would outgrow most of it. She herself had. And Erica’s presence provided something else for Carol, the reminder of how comfortable she’d felt with Lee. Despite the odds and against all reason, she and Lee had connected. She’d had a lot of time to think about why, and about whether it was real or just an illusion born of his guilt and her vulnerability. Being away from him had done nothing to diminish her feelings.

  She’d fallen in love with him.

  And now she’d filed a lawsuit that Wes had already warned her would change both their lives… and inevitably keep her and Lee apart.

  Which was exactly what she had been afraid of.

  “What made you decide to come today?” Carol asked Erica, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “My dad made a bet with me that I wouldn’t come ’cause I didn’t think my work was any good,” Erica explained.

  “Looks like I might have to be the judge,” Carol murmured.

  Lee’s tactic made her smile despite herself. She knew that he genuinely wanted to encourage his daughter to explore her talents, build her self-confidence. But what if in sending Erica to her, Lee was attempting to maintain the only contact he was allowed? Was he sending her a special message through Erica’s pres
ence?

  Carol glanced at the young girl’s profile, noting the similarities between her and her father. Finally she took out her lunch bag and passed it to Erica.

  “Here. Help yourself.”

  Erica dug around inside the bag and took out a tangerine, then peeled it. “My dad said your class might be fun.”

  “Did he? Why?”

  “He said you’re a great teacher,” Erica responded, popping a wedge of tangerine in her mouth. “I asked him how he knew.”

  Carol felt her stomach tighten, but she kept her expression one of simple interest. She took out a small Ziploc bag of baby carrots and began eating them. “And his answer was…?”

  “He said he sat in on one of your classes. While he was investigating your accident.”

  Carol nodded. “Yes, he … he had more questions, so he … showed up one day.”

  “Is that when he started seeing you?”

  “Where—where did you get that idea?”

  “I asked him,” Erica said with charming simplicity.

  Carol didn’t know what to say. Any denial would be an obvious lie. But she was not about to discuss her personal life with a fifteen-year-old. Or ask what Lee had told Erica.

  “Your father has been very understanding and … and kind,” Carol said carefully.

  Erica stared at her for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, but I think it’s a lot more than that. He said so.”

  Sensing the danger and inappropriateness of saying any more on the subject, Carol searched for something else to talk about. “So, have you given up those thoughts of running away?”

  Erica nodded. “I guess I was just mad. Besides, I heard that sometimes young girls like me get picked up and then they disappear and are found dead someplace.”

  “I’m really glad you decided it wasn’t a smart thing to do.”

  “Weren’t you scared when you ran away?”

  “I was more scared the first time than the second. But after the second time, I realized that there wasn’t any place better than my home. I was so happy when my parents came to get me. I’m really glad you changed your mind, Erica. Your father would have been so hurt.”